Alive
by Piscaria
Summary: After the Autobots came into his life, Sam's thoughts started drifting to his grandfather. Sam/Bee slash.


_Living in the earth-deposits of our history_

Adrienne Rich, from "Power"

Sometimes Sam liked to imagine his grandfather stumbling over the frozen earth piled high with ice and snow, wrapped in layers of coats and gloves to protect him from the Arctic chill. What in Archibald Witwicky's life had ever prepared him to uncover Megatron from the ice? Ever since he'd met the Autobots, Sam's thoughts had started drifting to his grandfather, who'd made the greatest discovery of his generation and spent the rest of his life in an asylum as a reward.

"We're here," Bumblebee said, slowing down as he spoke, and Sam shook himself out of his thoughts to see a wrought-iron gate reading "Forest Lawn Cemetery" approaching to their right. True to its name, the cemetery was surrounded by pine trees – a true lawn in the middle of the forest, Sam thought. The yellow Camaro pulled to a stop in the gravel parking lot, and Sam twisted in his seat to retrieve the bouquet he'd stashed in the back. Now that they'd reached the cemetery, Sam hesitated inside the Camaro, running his fingers over the carnations, which were wilted slightly from the long drive and the heat of the car.

"Are you nervous?" Bumblebee asked. Sam wondered how the Autobot always seemed to know his moods better than he did: Bee had been the one to suggest the trip to the cemetery, after Sam had been silently toying with the idea for weeks.

"I guess so," Sam said, wrapping his hand around the door handle but making no move to open it. "If I'd known that Grandpa wasn't crazy while he was still alive, I could have helped him somehow. I could have . . . " Sam let the sentence die, unsure how to finish it. He'd met his grandfather, who'd smelled of hospitals, only once as a child, and the old man's eyes had only flickered to Sam for a second before his gaze turned inward once again and he resumed his habitual muttering about the frozen man in the ice.

"You were twelve years old when your grandfather died, Sam," Bumblebee reminded him, his electronic voice managing to sound gentle. "A child so young, even such an extraordinary child as you, could hardly have been expected to deduce the reason for your grandfather's mental state, let alone alleviate it."

Touched at Bee's description of him as "extraordinary," even as melancholy as the situation was making Sam, he shrugged his shoulders beneath his t-shirt and dark green hoodie, and shuffled his sneaker-clad feet against Bumblebee's floor mat. Mikaela had once called Bee Sam's own personal cheerleader, and as crazy as it was to think of the Autobot waving pom-poms in the air like the ponytailed girls at school, Sam had to admit that Bee always knew how to make him feel better.

"Well, I could have tried," Sam said, finally opening the door. The small cemetery looked like a clearing in the forest, the green grass and old-fashioned tombstones covered with shadows from the branches overhead. Bee's engine _hummed_ at him in response, and Sam swallowed, filled with a sudden rush of tenderness for the Autobot. Who would have guessed that a Camaro's engine could be so capable of showing gentleness and concern or sympathy? Holding the bouquet in one hand, Sam slid out of the car and hesitated, eyeing the gravel path leading into the cemetery where his grandfather rested.

"Come with me?" he asked, feeling like a wimp for asking the question, but knowing that Bee could somehow make the experience less weird.

"Of course," Bee said, and before he'd even finished speaking, his transformation sequence began, machinery coming apart and reassembling itself with the breathtaking grace and choreography of a ballerina. The cemetery was deserted, so nobody saw the giant robot follow the human boy down the path.

"Be careful," Sam warned him. In his mind, he saw Optimus Prime crushing his father's fountain; these tombstones were so old, it would probably take nothing more than a chance nudge from Bumblebee to break them.

"I will," Bumblebee promised, his voice sincere, and indeed, he picked his way through the stones so delicately that Sam felt bad for uttering his warning – he forgot sometimes that, as a scout, Bee'd had more than his share of practice moving carefully and staying hidden.

"Now where are you, Grandpa?" Sam muttered aloud, realizing for the first time that he had no idea which of these tombstones belonged to his grandfather.

"Do you need assistance?" At Sam's nod, Bumblebee's optics brightened, blue light fanning over the tombstones as he scanned each name, saved them for future reference, and identified the correct one as easily as he'd once catalogued Sam's comic collection for him. "Your grandfather's grave is there," Bee said, pointing. Sam's eyes followed Bee's finger to a cluster of tombstone near the wrought iron fence – sure enough, several of them read "Witwicky" (Sam's dad had explained that everyone in the family used to be buried at Forest Lawn, before the cemetery filled up).

Archibald Witwicky, read the tombstone Bee was pointing at, 1916 – 1999 -- he had no epitaph. Sam lay the bouquet on the grass, wondering why people gave flowers to the dead, who certainly couldn't appreciate them.

"Hi, Grandpa," Sam said awkwardly, kneeling on the damp grass. "It's Sam -- I'm not sure if you remember me; I was just a kid the last time you saw me." Sam glanced up at Bumblebee, wondering if the Autobot thought he was crazy for talking to the grave as if his grandfather could hear him, but Bee only nodded encouragingly. "I've been thinking a lot about you, Grandpa," Sam said, tracing patterns into the grass as he spoke, "I mean, there's been a lot happening in my life, and I think you'd understand it all better than my parents do."

"Grandpa, this is my best friend, Bumblebee," Sam continued shyly, smiling at Bee's pleased and surprised-sounding chirp; the Autobot was standing behind him, his shadow falling over Sam and the tombstone – with Bee's doorwings cast in silhouette by the afternoon sun, the shadow might have been a guardian angel.

To Sam's surprise, Bumblebee knelt gracefully and dipped his head in a distinguished nod, it might have almost been a bow. "You have done a great service to me and to my people, sir," Bumblebee said – his cultured voice sounded hesitant, as though he weren't quite sure how to address a grave – Sam swallowed, strangely touched by that formal politeness Bee pulled on whenever the situation demanded it.

Sam looked up at the Autobot gratefully, smiling at the uncertainty evident in Bee's insect-like face. Bumblebee clicked at him, and the Autobot curled his large fingers around Sam's shoulders, brushing the sensitive skin on the back of Sam's neck – Sam inhaled sharply, tasting pine needles and wood smoke in the air. The unseen brook bubbled in the distance, and somewhere, a bird was singing. Sam scooted backwards, closer to Bumblebee, and leaned back until he was resting against the Autobot's smooth metal leg. He supposed he should feel embarrassed for cuddling his car – cuddling his car on his grandpa's grave, no less – but he didn't, not when Bee smelled like warm iron charged with the crackling scent of ozone, not when electricity moved through his wires like blood through Sam's veins.

"I'm so glad you're here with me," Sam said, wishing he were brave enough to say the words his heart was singing.

Bumblebee's fingers tightened around his shoulder, as though he'd heard the words anyway – maybe he did, Bee always seemed to know what Sam was thinking – and he leaned even closer, his faceplates brushing Sam's cheek, saying, "I will always be with you, Sam."

The moment stretches between them. It's enough.

With his past buried in the earth below him and his future leaning over him, protective and strong, Sam sat in the middle of the circle of his life. Leaning backwards, reaching up, he caught Bee's face in his hands and pulled it down, until Bee's chin rested against the top of Sam's head. In response, Bee wrapped his other hand around Sam's chest. One of his fingers rested against the bare flesh of Sam's belly, where his t-shirt had ridden up. Sam shivered, twisting his head to kiss the hand on his shoulder. Air puffed through Bee's vents like a gasp, and Sam swore that he can feel his friend's electric pulse jump.

"I love you, Bee," he dared to say, because they were both so very much alive.

Finis.


End file.
